


The Task

by mousaerato



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Coercion, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Femdom, Gunplay, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Pegging, Psychological Torture, Red Romance, Revenge, Sibling Incest, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Xeno, uUcest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mousaerato/pseuds/mousaerato





	1. Chapter 1

                Caliborn stood at long last before his denizen, the great and awe-inspiring Yaldabaoth. After weeks upon weeks of enduring a voice in his head, a ludicrous purple clown, and patience-destroying key searching, the young Lord of Time had almost completed his quest to unlock his land. He was justly proud of his accomplishments, and felt prepared to take on anything the luminescent monstrosity before him could possibly offer. Although Caliborn fancied himself a gifted fighter (as those assigned Yaldabaoth are), he decided just this once to listen to the ridiculous “advice” of that disembodied specter and _talk_ to the creature.

                Caliborn kept himself at a fair distance, using his black scepter in one hand to lean upon. The light that emanated from Yaldabaoth’s golden and bright body was strong enough that the tween found himself bringing a green hand over his eyes as a visor to keep from being overwhelmed by his radiance. The heat itself was already shocking; Caliborn thought if he got any closer, he would catch fire.

                At last, the great beast spoke – not in a _voice,_ truly, but a low hum in Caliborn’s head. He was getting tired of creatures finding a way into his skull, but this voice was at least interesting and relevant to his goals. A low, gravelly, and ethereal voice vibrated and growled inside of him:

                “Well done, Lord of Time. I have been expecting you.”

                Caliborn scoffed. “Were you anticipating my failure?”

                “Not exactly,” he answered. “But it is impressive to see that you are...for the most part...in one piece.”

                “I’ll have you know. I _chose_ to gnaw my leg off,” he replied haughtily. “It was the only way to escape that _bitch._ ”

                Caliborn discerned a sigh that felt like it vibrated every bone and fiber in his being. Yaldabaoth spoke to him, voice resigned and full of wisdom, “You are still so young, with so much to learn. And yet you continue to refuse to see that.”

                “Speaking of ‘seeing,’” Caliborn began. “I’m here for my land. Some...voice thing...told me if I talked to you, I could enter my Land of Something and...Something.”

                “You will have to fly to get there.”

                “What the _fuck_?” Caliborn stuck out his black tongue in disapproval.

                “Will you accept The Choice?”

                “Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Stop with this cryptic bullshit and tell me what I have to do.”

                Another sigh rocked against Caliborn’s frame like the winds of a hurricane; he braced himself using his cane and groaned in irritation, rolling his eyes.

                “There are two ways an angel may earn its wins, Lord of Time. You may pay me directly, of sorts, or take on The Task.”

                “What’s the toll?”

                “Angels, like when prophets earn their stripes, must go blind to earn their wings.”

                Caliborn’s eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed as his face curled up in anger and suspicion. “So to see my land. I have to give you my eyes.”

                “Yes.”

                Caliborn didn’t care that he was standing before a demiurge, immensely powerful and able, if he wished, to obliterate his small frame in an instant. He barked irreverently at the denizen, spewing vitriol with each sound. “That is the stupidest fucking shitty twist I have ever heard in my life! What kind of bullfucking deal is that? Some ironic indulgence? Pathetic. What’s option two?”

                Yaldabaoth was unfazed; he saw and understood Caliborn’s bravado and arrogance. “The Task, young Lord, is to find one last key.”

                Caliborn grumbled, but said nothing in response.

                “The other way an angel may earn its wings is if a bell rings.”

                “What’s a key have to do with _that?_ ”

                “There is a bell locked away on this planet. Complete The Task, and you will be able to open it. After that, you will earn your wings and be allowed to fly into your land.”

                “I wish I had fought you instead.”

                “Alas, young Lord,” Yaldabaoth mused, “that is no longer an option for you. You opted for The Choice, and now you must make a decision: will you enter your world blindly, or will you accept The Task?”

                “Let me guess. This is another one of those ‘I get no second option once I choose’ things. Is that it?”

                “That is indeed correct.”

                “So. Once I pick if I want to have you burn my eyes out of my sockets. Or go one some inane key quest. I can’t change my mind?”

                “Those are my conditions.”

                Caliborn growled yet again; the _gall_ of this creature to give him such ridiculous conditions. He was serving as an impediment instead of an instrument. He wanted – no, _needed_ – to see his land, his adoring consorts, to—

                His thought process was cut off again by an interrupting voice of a near-god: “I encourage you to think this through, young man; the demands of The Task may be too much for you to endure.”

                Those words tipped the scale. “Fuck you for underestimating me! Fine! I accept The Task. Do you hear the underlining?”

                The glowing face before him began to _smile,_ a slight upward curl gracing its lips.  To Caliborn’s dismay and agitation, Yaldabaoth began to _laugh,_ each breathy cackle of arrogance shaking the ground around his fragile, green form.

                “What’s so fucking funny?” Caliborn snapped, scepter now a rifle at the ready. He would not admit it, but he began to feel scared as the sky around them began to warp. Yaldabaoth, ever vigilant and perspicacious, did not need his young hero’s verbal confirmation of his worries. He spoke – actually spoke – to Caliborn then, voice causing the world around them to slowly shatter and disintegrate:

                “Lord of Time, you have still failed to understand what your path could have been. As the most active master class, you had a unique role and responsibility to your consorts, your land, and your team. Instead of mastering Time and your role as an effective leader, you manipulated and abused your power and abilities only for yourself and your painfully myopic goals. _That_ is why your session is dead. Being a Lord is not about wielding power indiscriminately – it is about using your skills, making the important decisions, commanding when necessary for the success of all who place their trust in you. You could have become the most beloved of heroes and greatest of warriors. Instead, you were too proud, too arrogant, too spiteful - and became a tyrannical brat. For that, young one,  The Task assigned to you is designed to ingrain in you the traits you so blatantly lack: respect, fear, and most of all, humility.”

                With Yaldabaoth’s last maniacal cackle, the world around Caliborn became engulfed in flashing gold, bronze, and green light, forcing him to shut his eyes for fear of losing them. As he felt the space around him shift before opening his eyes, he heard one more message inside his head: “Good luck, Lord of Time. You’ll need it.”

                When he “awoke,” the world around him was entirely different; he was in another universe, another world, in a living space on another planet, so foreign and yet so familiar. Caliborn realized where he was, and when he heard the sound of footsteps entering from another room, his heart sank.

                A familiar, accented, and chipper voice called out to him as the footsteps drew nearer, and Caliborn suddenly wished he had chosen to go blind instead.

                “Nice to see you’ve come for a visit, lovely.”


	2. Chapter 2

                Caliborn realized he was sitting on a floor as his sister entered the room, serpentine smirk on her lips, as she licked at her fangs with a lime green-tinted, split-free tongue. No, she wasn’t “Calliope” anymore, but Callie Opheee, Caliborn noted with a shocked jolt as he looked up at her. She was tall, with gray skin like the rocks that littered their formerly shared home planet and snow-white hair in a short, cropped cut, a little bushy and curly in places. Jutting out of her skull were two long, twisted, and curving horns, ruddy bronze at their bases, but brighter and almost amber at their tops. Her eyes were no longer big and predominantly white, but _orange_ , with gray irises; they didn’t dominate her face anymore, like his did.  Most interestingly, Caliborn noticed that “Callie’s” skin seemed to have a tint of _lime_ to it at the tip of her nose and at her ears. Strange.

                Her outfit was the same as always: that hideous verdant tailcoat with the green slacks they shared. Her torso, though, looked definitely feminine instead of androgynous and boxlike. She was still very slim and tomboyish, however; she looked exactly as she always hoped she would. Caliborn rolled his eyes at the discovery and growled at her as he folded his arms across his chest.

                “Well, would you look at that? You cleaned yourself up and look maybe less hideous,” he jeered.

                With little ceremony, Callie pulled a small, silver-and-green key from her coat pocket, jingling it in front of her brother’s eyes. “Sorry, can’t hear you over this darn thing’s clanging!”

                Caliborn jumped to grab it from her hands, but with the snap of Callie’s fingers, it was gone.

                He was positively incensed. “What the _fuck_ did you do that for?!”

                “Oh? Did you need that?” Callie asked, obviously aware of its importance. “Whoops. Silly me.”

                “Bring it back!”

                “I don’t need it, dear brother. Why should I bring it back?”

                “I’ll fuckin-“

                Before he could finish his thought, Callie pulled out her wand and made Caliborn’s gun disappear. “You’ll... _what,_ now?”

                With another flick of the wrist, Calliope created green light that sent Caliborn flying across the room, smacking his head against concrete, thick walls, covered in sugar pink and white wallpaper. He felt disarmed and suddenly nervous. Not afraid – oh, Cailborn would never be afraid – but nervous, yes. Callie just giggled and smirked.

                “Magic is real, by the way,” she mused. “And I could certainly be swayed to use it to bring your precious fetish back.”

                “Fetish?” Caliborn stuck out his black tongue at her in disgust.

                “A thing with power, you pervert. You want the key, right?”

                “Why the hell else am I here? Not a pleasure visit, that’s for sure.”

                She giggled again with an air of superiority. “Then I recommend you start playing by my rules.”

                “You cloying loudmouth _bitch,”_ he screamed as he lunged at her, wanting to claw her face off. With another simple swish of her wand, Callie sent lime sparks flying that kept Caliborn frozen in place, hovering a half inch above the floor. He winced in pain, looking like he was being pricked with hundreds and hundreds of tiny needles. He sputtered and choked on his words, gasping for breath as he twitched in pain, trying against all odds to injure her. Callie simply crossed her arms across her chest and watched as his eyes filled with more anger at his futile attempts before finally resigning to it.

                “Caliborn, lovely,” she taunted, bringing a gray finger to his chin, tilting his face upwards to hers. “Do you want the key?”

                “You fucking bitch,” he muttered.

                “Ah ah ah!” she tisked, turning her wand into a gun and cavalierly bringing its muzzle to his head.  Caliborn let out a gulped kind of gasp unconsciously. “I’d be more careful with your words here, dear.”

                “Y-, y-you...Callie,” he managed, still struggling against the feeling of shocks and jolts against his skin; she had relented enough for him to speak, but not enough to be free of pain.

                She cut him off, letting the cold gray metal dig into his skull. “First lesson: basic manners. What do you say when you want something, Cal?”

                He growled, but the sound of a gun cocking silenced him.

                Callie’s voice became increasingly melodic: “What should Caliborn say, hrm? Come on, take a guess! Maybe you’ll get _lucky_ if you’re not that bright! Think of it as...oh, bollocks, what do they call it...” she continued, fully aware of the answer. “Russian roulette!”

                “Cal...”

                The limeblooded troll twisted the muzzle into his skin, enough to cut and draw blood. “ _Callie,”_ she corrected, voice firm and authoritarian. She smiled again and returned to the sweeter voice then; the dichotomy sent a shock through Caliborn’s body even more than the tiny jolts. “Now, what do you say?”

                “Callie...” his voice was dry, weak, but still angry.

                “Come on, speak up.”

                “May I have the key...”

                “May I have the key- what? Come on now, Caliborn, you and I both know I don’t have the _time_ for this,” she mocked, making a pun of him. “I don’t think I need to tell you this gun would completely _obliterate you_ if I pulled the trigger, now do you?”

                How could she be so _kind_ and _happy sounding?_ She had completely lost her mind. That, or she had finally gotten some confidence, Caliborn deduced. He was stuck in an alternate reality, where his sister – the Muse of Space herself – had achieved everything she wanted. If anyone could follow up on a threat to erase every molecule of him from existence, it would be her. And at this point, he knew she might very well do it.

                He couldn’t allow that if he was going to accomplish _his_ goals. Like with Yaldabaoth, there was no other choice.

                He gulped audibly. “...please...”

                Turning her gun back into a wand, she released him from the enchantment that afflicted him. He fell to the ground onto his knees, sucking in deep breaths in spite of himself. Turning away from him, she asked rhetorically, “That wasn’t so hard now, was it? There’s hope for you yet!”

                More lime green lines of energy emanated from the wand; she had performed another spell with her back turned to him. As the lines spread across the room, they turned into dust, to glitter, and covered every surface of the room, transforming it. Callie’s brother watched in fascination and horror as the walls became more prominently pink, now with hot pink, sugar pink, and white patters of hearts and diamonds everywhere. There was suddenly a large pile of assorted plush versions of Alternian beasts in unnatural, shocking colors on the end of the room – why did she make that? There was a recuperacoon on another end, and the floor became quite...comfortable, covered in the soft, snowy pelts of other animals. Finally, at the center, there was what looked to be a silver and gold tea set upon a table with two chairs.

                “Take a seat,” she gestured as she sat down at the small, feminine table. “Let’s dish.”

                At least Callie looked to have some decent taste in food. The gilded plates featured marzipan and cupcakes, all overly saccharine in green, white, red, and pink fondant and crèmes. Before Caliborn could eat, Callie caught his attention to ask a question.

                “What kind of drink do you take, dear?”

                “I have a choice...?”

                “Of course you have a choice! You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, right?” She knew how he had come here.

                Caliborn bit his tongue as she giggled again. “What do you have.”

                “Oh, some of the _choicest_ wicked elixirs on Alternia! What kind would you like?”

                Callie showed him a bevy of small, plastic bottles, each full of a different color of fizzy swill. “Personally, Caliborn, I like Moon Mist.”

                “What’s the red one?” he asked quietly.

                “That’s Redpop.”

                “Are you fucking serious? Who calls a red drink _Redpop?_ What is it, the ‘essence of red’ or some _shit_?”

                Suddenly, Caliborn felt the cold metal of a gun _smack_ across his face. He hissed in pain as Callie, without so much as even glancing up from her drink pouring, said, “You’re forgetting your place again, dear. You’d think you were a page with how slow learning you are.”

                He brought a claw up to feel at the place of impact instinctively. Callie continued: “Now, do you _want_ the redpop?”

                “Yes,” he said with a bite at the end. He just wanted this whole song and dance over.

                “Yes...hrm?”

                “Yes, Callie, may I _please_ have the Redpop?” Caliborn couldn’t believe he was condescending to say those words.

                “Certainly,” she smiled, happily pouring his drink. “Take it easy, though – it’s quite sweet.”

                As he sipped – making sure to keep his pinky out for fear of losing it – Callie began to lay out her conditions. “I understand you need a key that I happen to have. While I’m not sure what on Earth you could need it _for,_ ” she said in complete mockery, “I’m willing to give it to you with some terms.”

                This was sounding too familiar. “Do you want my eyes, too?”

                She laughed heartily. “No, no, no, no! You see...I must admit I think I’m... _attracted_ to you, Caliborn.”

                Caliborn dropped his teacup and spilled what precious bit of the delicious substance was left onto the coaster. He wanted to speak, but the words dried up in his mouth. Was it another spell, or was he simply too scared of the alien brandishing power and his freedom before his very eyes?

                “Are you now.” They were the only words he felt _safe_ uttering.

                “Yes, I’ll admit it,” she said in a breathy, weak, faux-swooning voice. “But I don’t really know what _kind_ of attraction it is. You see, we Trolls understand romance not as a single linear concept like humans or even cherubs do.”

                Instead of rolling his eyes, Caliborn managed to stare at the marzipan candies in front of him, focusing his attention onto them for the sake of his own neck. Could he take one, yet?

                Callie continued, “We trolls have _four_ concepts of romance: the pale quadrant, the red quadrant, the black quadrant, and the ashen quadrant – help yourself to those treats, dear.”

                He didn’t need to be told twice, immediately hoarding half a dozen little petit-fours onto his place as he popped another into his mouth.

                “If you help me figure out what kind of attraction it is successfully, I may be... _moved..._ to give you the key.”

                Realizing her statement’s implications, Caliborn choked and gagged on his candy. It was the first time he’d ever felt the urge to reject something so sweet. As he looked up from placing the spit-covered comestibles onto a pink and yellow napkin, Caliborn saw Callie with her wand ready to strike. “Is there something wrong, Caliborn?”

                He said nothing, heart pounding in his chest from fear, confusion...interest. Callie continued: “Do you agree to my conditions?”

                “Do I have a choice?” he squeaked, voice small.

                “Of course you do. Life is full of choices – it just so happens that _some people_ make very, very poor ones,” she retorted. It was an obvious jab at him.

                “Fine.”

                Callie smiled and clapped with glee. “Oh, goodness! This is wonderful! I can’t wait to have our first feelings jam!”

                “...feelings...jam?”

                “Oh, _yes,”_ she gushed. “See that pile there? We’re going to lay there and we’re going to talk about our feelings until I am completely satisfied.”

                “I don’t—“

                “And don’t tell me you don’t have feelings,” she started, voice now back to that intimidating _dark_ tone. “I know you do, brother. And I’m sure you’ll have lots to say after that, er...’drink.’”

                “You slipped something in my tea?!”

                “Just a little extra motivation to loosen your tongue up.”

                “Why would you _do_ that?! What would possess someone like you to-“

                Caliborn wanted to say more; he wanted to yell at her, snap at her, list a litany of her failings and all the ways what she did was wrong. It was at that moment he realized that whatever she had put into his drink was _working._ Callie smirked with a pleased hum to herself.

                “Why don’t you lie down over there,” she commanded.


End file.
